The Downfall (La Débâcle): A Story of the Horrors of War

by Émile Zola

'The brutes! the brutes!' repeated Prosper in a low growl. 'It would be a treat to strangle a few of them.'

Silvine again silenced him. She was shuddering. A dog, shut up in a cart-house spared by the fire, forgotten there for a couple of days past, was howling, raising a continuous plaint, so doleful that a kind of terror sped athwart the low hanging sky whence some fine grey rain had just begun to fall. And at that moment, whilst passing the park of Montivilliers, they came upon a ghastly spectacle; three large tumbrels laden with corpses were standing there, one behind the other—scavengers' tumbrels, into which, as they pass along the streets of a morning, it is customary to shovel all the refuse of the previous day; and in a like manner they had now been filled with corpses; stopping each time that a body was flung into them, and starting off again with a great rumbling of wheels to halt once more farther on—in this wise scouring the whole of Bazeilles, until they fairly overflowed with heaped-up corpses. And now, motionless, by the wayside, they were waiting to be taken to the public 'shoot,' the neighbouring charnel-place. Feet protruded from them, upreared in the air; and a head, half-severed from the trunk, hung over the side of one of the vehicles. And when the three tumbrels again set out, jolting along through the puddles, a long, livid, pendent hand began rubbing against one of the wheels, which in its revolutions gradually wore it away, stripped it first of its skin, and then consumed it to the bone.

The rain ceased falling when they reached the village of Balan, where Prosper prevailed on Silvine to eat some bread, which he had taken the precaution to bring with him. It was already eleven o'clock. As they were drawing near to Sedan they were stopped by another Prussian post, and, this time, there was a terrible to-do, for the officer in command flew into a passion and even refused to return the laissez-passer, which, speaking in perfect French, he declared to be a forgery. By his orders some soldiers pushed the donkey and the little cart under a shed. What was to be done? How were they to continue their journey? Silvine was in despair, when an idea came to her on recollecting cousin Dubreuil, that well-to-do relative of old Fouchard's, with whom she was acquainted, and whose residence, the Hermitage, was only a few hundred yards away, beyond the lanes overlooking the suburb. Perhaps the German officer might listen to a man of means like him. So, leaving the donkey, she took Prosper with her, for the officer contented himself with impounding the vehicle and the moke, and allowed the young couple to go free. They ran on and found the gate of the Hermitage wide open, and as they entered the avenue of ancient elms they were greatly astonished by a spectacle which they descried in the distance. 'The deuce!' said Prosper, 'here are some fellows having a high time of it!'

A joyous party appeared to be assembled on the fine gravel of the terrace, below the house-steps. Some arm-chairs and a sofa, upholstered in sky-blue satin, were ranged around a table with a marble top, thus forming a strange, open-air drawing-room, which the rain must have been drenching since the day before. A couple of Zouaves, wallowing at either end of the sofa, appeared to be splitting with laughter; whilst a little Linesman, leaning forward in an arm-chair, looked as though he were holding his sides. All three had their elbows resting in a nonchalant way on the arms of their seats; whilst a Chasseur was holding out his hand as though to take a glass from the table. They had apparently emptied the cellar, and were having a spree.

'How is it they are still here?' muttered Prosper, becoming more and more stupefied as he drew nearer. 'The devils! are they doing this to show their contempt for the Prussians?'

All at once, however, Silvine, whose eyes were dilating, shrieked and made a gesture of horror. The soldiers did not stir—they were dead! The two Zouaves, stiffened and with twisted hands, had no faces left them; their noses had been torn off, their eyes driven out of their sockets. The laugh of the Linesman who was holding his sides, was due to a bullet which had split his lips, breaking his teeth. And atrocious, indeed, was the sight which these poor wretches presented, seated there, as though chatting together, in the rigid postures of lay figures, with their eyes glassy, and their mouths wide open, each and all of them icy cold and for ever motionless. Had they, whilst yet alive, dragged themselves to that spot that they might die together? Was it the Prussians, who, by way of a grim joke, had picked them up and seated them there in a convivial circle, as though in derision of French gaiety?

'A queer amusement all the same,' resumed Prosper, turning pale. And looking at the other corpses strewn across the avenue, beneath the trees and over the lawns, at the thirty brave fellows or so among whom lay Lieutenant Rochas, riddled with bullets and swathed in the colours of his regiment, the Chasseur added with a serious, almost reverential air: 'There's been some hard fighting here. I hardly think we shall meet the gentleman you want to find.'

Silvine was already entering the house, through whose shattered windows and gaping doorways the damp atmosphere freely penetrated. Evidently enough, there was nobody there; the occupants must have gone away prior to the battle. However, she obstinately made her way to the kitchen, and on entering it again raised a cry of fright. Two bodies had rolled under the sink—a Zouave, a well-built man with a black beard, and a brawny Prussian with red hair. They were locked together in a savage embrace; the Frenchman's teeth had bitten into the German's cheek, and their stiffened arms had in no degree relaxed their grasp, but were still bending and cracking each other's broken spine, uniting them both in such an intricate knot of everlasting fury, that they must needs be buried together.

Since there was nothing they could do in that empty house, which death alone now tenanted, Prosper made all haste to lead Silvine away. On returning, in despair, to the outpost where the donkey and the cart had been detained, they were lucky enough to find there a general who was visiting the battlefield. He wished to see the laissez-passer which the stern officer commanding the post had confiscated, and having read it he returned it to Silvine with a gesture of commiseration, as though to say that this poor woman should be allowed to go on her way in search of her husband's body. Thereupon, without tarrying, she and her companion, followed by the little cart, went off towards the Fond de Givonne, permission to pass through Sedan having been again refused them.